


Sojourn

by Saganamidreams



Series: The Sojourn cycle [1]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Feels, Gen, Jack Harkness Backstory, Protective Jack Harkness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 06:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17381162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saganamidreams/pseuds/Saganamidreams
Summary: Jack's journey from The Doctor Dances to Boom Town. There are some things that cannot be resisted.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted in 2005 on A Teaspoon and an Open Mind.

Jack knew it was a TARDIS, knew it had a chameleon circuit and, for reasons yet to be explained to his satisfaction, it looked like a blue box. What he couldn’t quite wrap his head around was why no one noticed the ungainly thing.  
  
Materialisation had left them in a sub-corridor of Balen 6, one of the 42nd century’s busiest trade stations. It was a universal destination, filled with the cream of alien society and the flotsam and jetsam of humanity, bustling and crowded. Despite this, passers-by didn’t notice or didn’t acknowledge the TARDIS, as if she were wrapped in psychic paper bearing the message ‘I belong here. Ignore me.’  
  
Jack leaned against the ship, idly tracing the grain of the wood, wondering what it actually looked like, listening to the voices drifting out through the door. Teasing and clothes and the foibles of humans, the banter between Rose and the Doctor was almost ritual. The appearance of the words ‘stupid apes’ inevitably heralded one of their _moments_ as he’d labelled them. Moments when, for all intents and purposes, the world apart from them ceased to exist.  
  
Glancing down the corridor, the universal grey: grey walls, grey carpet, grey writing, grey _lights_ were in stark contrast to the sections that catered to the wealthier galactic traders. He’d had been here many times and each with a different role: Time Agent, playboy, galactic prince, merchant and, on one _highly_ memorable occasion, as a concubine.  
  
Tradecraft running the gamut from merchant cruiser to tramp freighter stopped at the station for rest, refuelling and trade. Balen 6 was a galactic hub and there was nowhere in space — or time, if you had the right connections - you couldn’t get to from here.  
  
Nothing had been said, but he knew why they were here. The part the Doctor needed could have been found in any of the markets scattered across space; he’d decided on Balen 6 when Jack had mentioned his familiarity with it.  
  
Obviously, this was the logical place to leave him.  
  
He supposed he was _grateful_ they’d brought him somewhere so advanced, but gratitude was drowned by ashen bitterness and an unsettled discontent he couldn’t trace.  
  
That they’d taken him off his doomed ship had been a surprise. He’d been prepared to die, knew he was about to be blown to hell and that it was his own bloody fault.  
  
He’d reached the safety of the ship, planning, intending to leave. Had begun the system checks necessary to fire up the engines and get him out of there. But his hands betrayed him, drifting from flight panel to teleporter, setting it to snag a bomb that left free would have obliterated all evidence of what his mistake had almost wrought.  
  
It would also obliterate a man in a leather jacket who was so much more than he appeared and a woman dressed in a Union Jack: a man who replaced munitions factories with banana groves, a woman - his mind hesitated even as his fingers nimbly made adjustments and tweaked settings - a woman he suspected was unlike any he’d ever met. They’d loomed large in his mind as he frantically adjusted the settings, racing against time as destruction whistled closer.  
  
He’d nabbed the bomb then, greatly daring, slid down the beam to straddle it, all bright-eyed bravado and grinning sass. Well aware of the picture he made he’d played the heroic farewell to the hilt. The Doctor had been willing to sacrifice him without qualm, his ubiquitous cynicism noted, but it couldn’t convince him Rose understood what was happening. So he’d had his moment and disappeared, last act typifying everything he wasn’t.  
  
Ideas, impulses, thoughts racing on rivers of adrenaline drove him back for one last moment. Imminent death couldn’t breach his defences, but he packed everything into his tone: farewell and regret and something that almost sounded to him like ‘it was worth it’ and gave it to the blonde in the Union Jack.  
  
Back in his ship, he’d laughed at himself, at how he’d come to the very end he’d tried to avoid: chance of termination - 100%. If the laughter was tinged with a touch of desperation, at least there’d been no one to see it.  
  
He’d been played by a master.  
  
The Doctor had known he’d save them, had somehow forced his hand. Jack was impressed despite the outcome — he was a master of manipulation, but even his talents paled in comparison to the subtle machinations the Doctor had employed.  
  
_Ah well_ , he’d thought sipping his martini and waiting, _had to die sometime_.  
  
The appearance of the blue box had stunned him, shocked him immobile. Rose’s voice snapping him out of it, he’d bolted for the door, reflexively concealing wonder at the immensity - at the impossibility — of what waited on the other side. Immediately his mind had started playing the angles: what did they want, what was their game?  
  
They’d _rescued_ him. He still had trouble wrapping his mind around the concept; suspected Rose’s hand was strongly at play in that move — alpha males rarely invited another into their territory willingly — and her happiness at seeing him alive had seemed very real.  
  
Leaning casually against the curved interior wall, watching them dance, he wondered just what the hell he’d gotten himself into, formulating plans to grab everything that wasn’t nailed down and calculating how long he’d have to do it.  
  
He’d smirked at the picture they’d made. The Doctor was right — he wouldn’t be adverse to a dance with either one or both together. Charismatic, magnetic, the Doctor was undeniably attractive, sensual despite the lanky frame and ungainly features. He suppressed the frisson of fear that responded sharply to the Doctor’s presence, intimately understanding the double-edged attractiveness of power.  
  
And Rose. He’d spared a moment to regret not pushing the issue when he’d had her, dancing in mid-air over the London sky. Warm and soft and sassy, he’d have tumbled her in a heartbeat. Then, profit and the con had won out: exploring Rose would have taken considerably longer than either of them had had. Now, he wouldn’t mind another chance.  
  
She’d been happy, smiling and laughing delightedly, offering to dance. He was eminently familiar with that reaction: seduction would be easy. She was halfway there, and he knew her type: once bedded, he’d have a hold on her he could use to get what he needed. Firmly, resolutely, he shoved down the niggling doubt, the voice that said, _yes, but what about?_  
  
Knowing time was against him, he’d begun the first steps in his planned seduction. Rose had rebuffed his overtures with laughing, teasing rejections that stung in a way an insult or a slap couldn’t. They’d just rolled right off the Doctor who’d grinned even wider than Rose and he’d retreated in disgruntled confusion to regroup.  
  
Dragging his thoughts back to the present, relief eluded him. He wanted to be relieved; wanted the weightless euphoria that accompanied every close escape. From Balen 6 he could make his way anywhere.  
  
Finger tracing the keyhole, his thoughts were heavy. Life was much simpler before he’d brought a Chula ambulance to earth; he should have known the con was too flawless to let him out unscathed.  
  
They raised uncomfortable feelings in him. Not the sexual attraction, for he’d played even beyond the notoriously permissive standards of his era. Seduction was his art: the hunt, the dance of predator and prey, seducer and seduced, was his joy. Stalking his targets, plying his skills across time and space, they were precision instruments that excised fools from their money.  
  
No, there was something about these two. Something dangerous. The Doctor was a predator in his own right, but the danger here was something different.  
  
Watching them, he’d seen their connection, undefinable and undeniable.  
  
Seen it in the halls of a London hospital, hand in hand in the beam of a teleporter they’d not even noticed, standing before a pack of monsters ready to defy them, dancing around the inside of a ship that shouldn’t exist. He’d been prepared to dismiss it as he’d dismissed his own uncharacteristic actions — as reaction to stress, to dangerous circumstances. Adrenaline and fear could have strange effects on people, effects he’d taken advantage of in the past.  
  
Danger over, it was still there between them. Shared glances over tea, casual brushes and touches, leaning into each other, Rose’s head resting on the Doctor’s shoulder, the Doctor draped over the back of her chair.  
  
It was something he couldn’t quantify. Couldn’t calculate, couldn’t work the odds on. Sex he could have understood and played the game on that basis. But it wasn’t sex and they didn’t seem aware of their attraction. It wasn’t as though he felt lost. It was just territory so unfamiliar, the map hadn’t been written for the likes of him.  
  
Whatever it was, it was waking vague feelings he refused to identify. Not quite jealously and not quite longing, they were new and uncomfortable and he didn’t like it. They struck a spark with the void in his memories, recognition of a sense of something lacking.  
  
Everything had to be factored into a con — one seemingly inconsequential detail could send it stuttering into ruin — and he couldn’t make the pair of them fit. So better that he got off the ship and away from them as soon as possible; they were throwing his reactions off and that could get him killed.  
  
The swirling chaos of clatter and chatter that was the Doctor and Rose interrupted his reverie.  
  
“Ready to go then?” the Doctor asked, brows lifted in inquiry.  
  
“Hey, it may take me time to look this good,” he gestured down the length of his body, slid a hand through his hair, “but I was still ready before you.”  
  
The Doctor poked Rose with one long finger, indicating she was responsible with a pointed tilt of his head. She responded with a light shove, exclaiming, “Oi! It wasn’t my fault. Blame the TARDIS, she’s the one that lost the wardrobe.”  
  
It was true, Jack thought, the TARDIS had lost the wardrobe in Rose’s room, and the kitchen, several libraries and what the Doctor had goofily described as ‘a room of infinite wonder’.  
  
Watching them, he had to admit that there were certain benefits to a lost wardrobe. Rose had scrounged in the Doctor’s room and was wearing one of his jumpers over jeans. Her curves hidden by its looseness, the amount of pale skin revealed by its deep v-neck made up for the loss.  
  
Struck suddenly by how startlingly attractive they were he felt a bitter pang of regret at the glorious picture they made: Rose the golden sun to the Doctor’s dark mass, each taking it in turn to orbit the other in defiance of all universal constants.  
  
He could have left — could have walked away instead of waiting, could have disappeared once they reached the crowds — but some perverse notion he refused to examine too closely was determined they would have to tell him to go.  
  
Rose glanced back at him and a stab of anger rose: presumably he was meant to follow along like a good boy. Gesturing with her free hand, the other held tight by the Doctor, motioning him to hurry, but her face was open and guileless, reflecting no impatience. Either she was a phenomenal actress or he was just off, misreading signals, like he didn’t speak their language.  
  
“So, please,” Rose implored, “please tell me we’ll find something here to fix the TARDIS. I need my clothes back.”  
  
He watched her closely as she took in the station. Clichéd it might be, but the Doctor was an enigma. Jack could stare at him until entropy triumphed, and all he’d learn was that none of the 27 different versions of manic grin bore any relation to what was moving behind his eyes. She, on the other hand, was transparent, each emotion flashing across her face, shouting out her every thought, bright and clear. She was the Rosetta stone, the key to understanding the dynamic confounding him.  
  
“Yup. Can’t get the actual part but I should be able to find something here we can rig up, hey Jack?” Grey walls were surrendering to bright primary colours, reflected in the guide maps spaced at regular intervals along the wall. The Doctor consulted one briefly, nodded to himself and pulled Rose around a corner.  
  
Startled, he swung closer to the pair. The halls were becoming crowded, a low buzz of conversation filling the air and blending with the deep rumble of the station’s generators. “Excuse me?”  
  
“The spatial locator is on the fritz. It needs a replacement bit, which we can’t get. With me so far?”  
  
He nodded uncertainly, wondering where he figured into this.  
  
The Doctor continued, “You’re pretty good when it comes to rigging up machines, yeah?” He didn’t wait for a response this time, “and I’m brilliant...”  
  
Rose’s snicker interrupted him.  
  
“I am!” he protested, voice rich with mock indignation making Rose laugh harder, leaning sideways into the Doctor, sending Jack stumbling into a tall creature trying to edge past the trio. Glaring, bright red crest drawn high in offence, it shoved bodily past them, and he crashed back into the Doctor. A strong hand under his elbow hauled him upright before he could hit the floor.  
  
Rose was bent double with laughter, clutching her stomach, forcing them to stop. Neatly concealing offence behind a blinding grin, he offered a deep bow to the pair, only somewhat hampered by the press of people. “Here to entertain you, in any way you might care to take advantage of,” his voice laced with suggestiveness.  
  
Rising gracefully, he checked abruptly as she reached out, still mirthful, and laid a hand on his chest. “I needed that, can’t remember the last time we had a good laugh.”  
  
A sudden realisation took his breath away. Rose wasn’t laughing at his uncharacteristic stumble, she was just laughing — all her joy and excitement bubbling up and overflowing. His hand slipped up, touching hers, unconsciously responding to his realisation. She squeezed it briefly, letting hers fall with a last chuckle as the Doctor looked on indulgently.  
  
“And if the words ‘stupid apes’ comes out of that mouth of yours,” Rose warned as the Doctor prepared to speak, “you’re going to regret it.”  
  
Momentarily motionless as they slid into the movement of the crowd, Jack stared at his hand in betrayal — he didn’t do casual touching. Hadn’t done, unless sex was involved.  
  
Exuding wounded innocence the Doctor continued, “As I was trying to say before someone so rudely interrupted, we need a part for the TARDIS’s spatial locator, and I’m sure we can find something here…”  
  
The ‘here’ trailed off as he flourished his free arm at the huge doors now in front of them. Tall steel glinting 10 feet high, opening onto a sea of metal and plastic: the Balen Trade Hall, where parts merchants and scrap metal dealers, pirates and scroungers, plied their trade, offering for sale anything and everything mechanical.  
  
Jack was struck by the smell. He breathed it in: grease, metal, sweating bodies of a dozen species, haggling over parts, the smell of commerce, of trade at its most basic. Table after table filled with metal and electronics, some neatly organised and catalogued, others strewn haphazardly across floor and table, tangled nests of wires creating hazards for the crowd.  
  
He loved this place. Loved everything about it, loved tinkering with machines and electronics. The Doctor had damned him with faint praise earlier had he but known it: only his ability to beguile eclipsed his mechanical skills.  
  
“Right,” the Doctor exclaimed, releasing Rose’s hand and rubbing his together in anticipation. “Off we go then.” He strode forward into the crowd, stopping suddenly, spinning back to them. “Hmm, no. This is a disaster waiting to happen.” Under his breath he added, “For once I’m gonna stop it before it starts.”  
  
Jack was puzzled at the apparent non sequitur, a glance at Rose showed her expression equally baffled.  
  
“You two, in there? Not good. Especially not you,” he added pointedly to Rose.  
  
Enlightenment dawned as Jack peered over the Doctor’s shoulder. No women. Not a single female could be seen amongst the bodies jostling for bargains.  
  
One of the peculiarities of the aliens who maintained this station was that females were solely responsible for governing and law. They did not engage in trade or commerce, and would definitely not be shopping for spare parts. Visiting ships tended to keep their female crew on board rather than risk offence, meaning Rose was one of very few women in evidence.  
  
Despite the diversity of species represented in the cavernous hall they possessed a uniformity of appearance: middle aged, scruffy and from the covetous glances aimed at both Rose and Jack, likely fresh off their ships.  
  
Trouble wasn’t going to come from a violation of their host species’ customs. It was going to come from some tramp freighter crew-member’s unwelcome attentions. Vivid pictures of the possibilities flashing across his mind, he grimaced.  
  
“What? What does that mean? _Especially not me_.” Transparently displeased with the Doctor’s statement, she glared expectantly, awaiting an explanation.  
  
Sliding to the side, out of range of any possible explosion, he waited. He was not getting involved in this.  
  
“Rose, please.” The Doctor drew her away from the entrance, the movement bringing them next to him. He sighed. “You want your clothes back, yeah? Well, the faster I find the part, the faster that can happen. I can be in and out in a flash if I go by myself.”  
  
Her stubborn expression didn’t bode well for the Doctor’s arguments.  
  
“Besides, it’s all grease and metal bits, nothing you’d find fun.” Rose wrinkled her nose in distaste.  
  
He was impressed. An appeal to her sensibilities might convince her; even a hint that she couldn’t look after herself would have her hurtling through the doorway.  
  
Gaze lighting on Jack, the Doctor’s eyes brightened.  
  
Uh oh. He had a sudden sense of impending doom.  
  
“Jack!”  
  
Deeply trepidatious, he answered slowly. “Yes?”  
  
Attention back on Rose, the Doctor continued, “Jack’s been here before. He can show you all the sights. You can take in the human things — clothes and bits of tat and whatnot. Right, Jack?”  
  
The question was accompanied by a frighteningly direct look.  
  
He was forced to reassess his earlier conclusion. The Doctor wasn’t always an enigma. Sometimes he could be as obvious as a lighthouse, his thoughts as clear as if he’d shouted them in his ear.  
  
_I don’t want her getting hurt, don’t want her getting into that sort of trouble with these sorts of people don’t want them touching her, hurting her._  
  
A jumble of emotions revolving around a single piercing thought: protect Rose.  
  
He was stunned. The Doctor wanted to pass Rose into his care? Wouldn’t take her into a situation where she might get hurt and the obvious alternative was to send her off with Jack, traipsing around a station she’d never been to?  
  
Pushing Rose next to him, digging into his pocket, the Doctor drew out a handful of credchips. “There you go,” he said, dropping them into Rose’s hand. “Have fun, I’ll meet you at Delvos.”  
  
He looked questioningly at Jack, who nodded. He knew the place.  
  
“Give us an hour.” Looking down at his watch he amended, “no, better make that three hours.” With a quick nod and a meaningful look he disappeared into the crowd.  
  
Alone with a ruefully grinning Rose he had the uncomfortable feeling he’d just agreed to far more than a tour of the station.  
  
“Is he always like that?” He was still blinking in surprise at the breathtaking speed with which the Doctor had executed his plan.  
  
Rose nodded, smiling fondly, and replied, “Yeah, pretty much.” Shaking her head, she glanced down at the chips. “First time I met him he grabbed my hand and told me to run for my life.”  
  
Huh. That was a story he was going to have to hear.  
  
“So, what do you want to see?”  
  
“Surprise me, Captain Jack.” Her grin was wide and open. “We’ve got money…This is money, right?”  
  
Three gleaming chips in front of his face. He nodded. Without a reader he couldn’t be sure, but his practiced eye was telling him those three golden bits of metal and plastic were enough for a substantial down payment on a new ship.  
  
“Right, so we’ve got money, three hours and I’ve got a guide. Let’s go find something fun.”  
  
Gallant, he offered his arm, flashing a quick smile when she accepted, but his attention was fixed on the chips she slid into her back pocket.  
  
  
* * *  
  
Rose hadn’t found anything to buy.  
  
  
He’d taken her to the safe parts of the station, the shops filled with communicators and electronic gadgets, tools and weapons, entire shops filled with anti-gravity storage lockers and stasis tanks. Were they his, those credits would have been gone in a heartbeat but he could see how nothing would strike the imagination of a girl from 20th century earth.  
  
As the three-hour mark approached Jack began guiding their steps to Delvos.  
  
A Delvos, he realised as they arrived, that had changed since he was last there.  
  
It had always been popular but now it was filled with what were obviously crew from the bottom end of the merchant fleets. Worn clothes, a certain tightness around the eyes, suspicious glances from bar to tables and the scent of cheap beer confirmed his assessment.  
  
The collective attention of the patrons had focussed on Rose. Jack’s presence at her side and his glare, directed at the bar in general, sent them back to their glasses and muttered conversations. If he’d had a way to find the Doctor, he’d have taken her somewhere else.  
  
He headed for a table at the back, placing Rose in the corner, fierce glare and teeth bared in what could be mistaken for a smile, deliberately placing himself between her and the other patrons.  
  
A disinterested waiter threw some menus down in front of them and wandered off without a word. He answered Rose’s raised eyebrow, saying, “Customer service isn’t a high priority here.”  
  
“I guess not.”  
  
He watched as she picked up the slightly sticky plastic flimsy. Puzzling at his behaviour he concluded he’d been trying to make life easier; trouble with Rose at its centre would inevitably involve him.  
  
“I can’t read this.” Her voice was plaintive, cajoling. She was so obvious he grinned at her.  
  
“Yeah, and?”  
  
“So, I’m hungry. What does this say?” She pointed to the middle of the menu. He blinked, tempted for a moment: her reaction to what was essentially a cage full of live furry spiders would have been highly entertaining.  
  
“I’m not going to read you the menu, Rose. If you’re going to traipse around through space and time, you really should learn some of the more common languages.” It was innocent teasing, surprisingly enjoyable, and he perused his menu with apparent unconcern.  
  
“Jack!” He shot her a wicked glance. She was pouting, actually pouting, but her eyes were dancing.  
  
“Oh, fine.” He surrendered, pretending annoyance. “But I’m really not reading you the menu.” He tapped his chin thoughtfully, miming deep thought. “I’ll order for you, but you’ve got to eat whatever I order.”  
  
She was weighing it up; he could see it. “Okay,” she said with a little shrug, “I trust you.”  
  
Automatically he continued what he was doing, reading the menu and tapping his order into the keypad set in the table’s centre.  
  
Inside he was seething.  
  
She trusted him? She really was naïve; she had no idea. He couldn’t believe she’d survived so long and was struck by a moment’s sudden sympathy for the Doctor. Trusted him.  
  
He was torn, first impulse to jump on her admission, use it to get everything he could from her. Trust was far more potent than lust. Seduced, he could have made her a pawn in his plans. If she truly did trust him - and how stupid was she? he thought - he could probably get anything he wanted, willingly given.  
  
The second impulse was utterly unexpected. He wanted to strangle her, grab her by the shoulders and tell her not be so stupid. Wanted to warn her that she was asking for trouble, setting up the guest room and inviting it to stay.  
  
She was chattering on, oblivious to the turmoil her words had caused, telling him about something she’d eaten on another space station, a Crumpburger, something the Doctor had chosen, apparently made from penguins.  
  
He was grateful when the keypad flashed, indicating their order was ready.  
  
He worked his way across the crowded floor, weaving between tables, checking the exits, shaking his head in disbelief, trying to figure out exactly how he’d ended up here with someone who _trusted him._  
  
He suppressed a brief urge to bang his head against the counter.  
  
Delay with the order — they’d given him gralk when he’d ordered flevan tres and gralk was poisonous to humans — kept him longer than intended, and he was confronted on his return by the sight of three figures, faded brown uniforms spotted with grease, hovering over Rose.  
  
She’d been smart enough not to let them corner her, was up on her feet and facing them. Her back was to him and as he approached unnoticed he could see the credchips glinting from her back pocket.  
  
He was poised, balanced on a moment of time, the clarity of choice blinding him.  
  
This was the perfect opportunity. He could lift the credchips and be gone before she realised; her attention wholly fixed on the figures in front of her. All bravado and cheek, not backing down and barely afraid, she was innocent confidence personified. She saw only harmless leers and innuendo, blind to the empty greed, the casual violence behind them.  
  
In her inexperience she didn’t understand the danger, didn’t understand how wrong this could end up.  
  
He could lift those chips and leave her there; make his way anywhere with the credit she’d regarded so casually. They’d never find him; he doubted they’d even look.  
  
He could…ah hell. No he couldn’t.  
  
Even as he stalked forward, sliding the tray onto a table, he cursed himself. _Why, why, why?_ \- his brain screaming at him all the while. He ignored it, slid a deliberately possessive arm around her shoulders, pushing her behind him, sheltering her with his body.  
  
He knew this sort: they wouldn’t back down unless they thought she belonged to someone else. Voice calm, almost bored, he inquired casually, “There a problem here, guys?”  
  
The tall one, obviously the leader, paused, looked Jack up and down. “She yours?”  
  
Tightened his arm in warning as she went rigid, felt her subside but not relax.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
Nostrils flaring slightly, eyes half-shuttered, letting the predator peer out from behind his masks; muscles deceptively loose, concealing lethal potential.  
  
Warning them they’d get one chance.  
  
They may have been greasy and they may have been smelly, but they weren’t stupid and they were cowards. They backed down, mouthing obscenities he didn’t bother to acknowledge.  
  
He didn’t move, didn’t let Rose go until they were back at their table, pointedly ignoring him. As his grip relaxed he felt her slip away. Eyes still watching the trio, he jerked in surprise when she hit him on the shoulder.  
  
“Yours?” She was indignant, eyes glaring, lips set. “As if. I could have handled that, you know.”  
  
It was hard, still riding the edge of adrenaline, normal persona slipped to one side and not yet resettled. He opened his mouth to respond, angrily, cuttingly, regretting his choice, but she sighed, and he hesitated.  
  
“But thank you,” she said, smoothing her palm over the point of impact, soothing the minor pain, a tacit apology.  
  
A half smile on her lips and something in her eyes, something warm and appreciative, and his regret ran away like water.  
  
“Yeah, well. I guess I’m just a gentleman at heart,” he struck an exaggerated heroic pose, “rescuing damsels in distress across the universe.”  
  
“Thought you were a criminal?” she asked teasingly.  
  
That brought him up short, remembering his words, whispered to Rose on a London night: ‘I prefer to think of myself as a criminal.’ Even then she hadn’t taken him seriously, laughing at his description. Something shifted subtly in his thoughts, now unwilling to embrace those words quite so enthusiastically.  
  
“People change.” Was that him? Voice so serious, so solemn.  
  
Her gaze sharpened.  
  
Turning, he retrieved the tray as she sat down, distracting her with a pointed glance at his watch as he slid into the opposite seat. “You do realise the Doctor was supposed to meet us here 20 minutes ago?”  
  
“He’s always late. His watch doesn’t work.” She poked dubiously at the shredded green substance he pushed her way, flashing him a suspicious look.  
  
“Hey, you said you’d eat it.”  
  
“Yeah, but what is it?” She poked at it again, dragging a long piece out of the bowl and dangling it from her fingers. Sniffing it, her expression changed. “Hey, this actually smells good!”  
  
“Rose, don’t sit there smelling everything, just eat it. It’s all good, I promise.”  
  
She picked up the double-pronged fork, tasting everything, emitting surprised, pleased noises. He just watched her, watched as, apart from her initial uncertainty, she tried everything he’d ordered, without hesitation.  
  
“Why does he wear it then?” At her nonplussed look he clarified, “The watch. If it doesn’t tell time, what’s the point?”  
  
She swallowed before answering. “Well, it does tell time, it just doesn’t tell hours and seconds time. It’s set for years and decades, so he’s usually late.” Tilting her head thoughtfully, she added, “On the plus side, though, he almost always hits the right year.”  
  
“That’s a comfort.”  
  
“Of course, we did end up in Cardiff in 1869 when we were supposed to be in Naples in 1860.”  
  
Rose’s story was interrupted by the arrival of the Doctor, who strode up to their table, clutching a paper sack. “There you two are, been looking all over for you.”  
  
She couldn’t let that pass and the two of them were off, banter flying thick and fast, the Doctor settling next to her, snagging food off her plates. Jack tuned out the words and just listened to the sounds, watching them.  
  
He continued to watch them, observing, mind and heart as calm as the eye of the storm, as Rose paid the bill, enjoying the wince of the cashier at the chip she passed over.  
  
Followed, still watching, still eerily calm, as they made their way back to the TARDIS, hidden in plain sight and apparently still unnoticed and unremarked. Neither had told him to go.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Tea. There was something about tea. If he’d been asked, Jack wouldn’t have guessed there was a TARDIS ritual revolving around tea.  
  
The spatial locator was repaired, the bit of metal and wire the Doctor had found at Balen 6 responding well to the application of what Rose described as “jiggery pokery”. The several suggestive, and one downright filthy, comments Jack had proffered in response had earned him a severe jab in the ribs from Rose.  
  
Ship repaired and wardrobe returned she’d dragged them to the newly restored kitchen for tea.  
  
He sat at the plain wooden table, surface scarred and battered, distinctly uncomfortable in his skin. His thoughts were racing, twisting around and back on themselves, old patterns forced painfully into new, breeding uncertainty; he felt balanced on a knife-edge.  
  
Returning to the TARDIS had thrown him; he was still waiting for them to tell him it was time to go. Working with the Doctor, seeing respect on his face as he’d demonstrated his mechanical skills. Laughing with them, bound in moments of fellowship. His actions on the station replaying in his mind, like the actions of a stranger.  
  
Rose had been so excited when they’d fixed the TARDIS, so eager for her clothes. The Doctor had grabbed her, tugging on the jumper, asking, “What’s wrong with this, then.”  
  
She’d laughingly replied, “Nothing, except you own about fifty of them.”  
  
Simple words, meaningless, but he’d been unable to take his eyes off them. Watching them, always watching them, watching the emotion that echoed between them, a tangible thing.  
  
She’d stopped in front of him, leaning up to touch his face, wiping at a bit of grease deposited during the repair. An unfamiliar possessiveness had suddenly ripped through him like wildfire, scorching him. Left him shaken and off-balance.  
  
Sitting in the kitchen, the sources of his discomfort so close around the small table, he sought refuge in his most comfortable role; raising it as a shield, as armour while behind it his mind raced.  
  
Rose passed him a cup of tea and he slid his fingers over hers, caressing gently before accepting it; flashed her a smouldering glance as he raised it to his lips. Leaned back in his chair, stretching his feet out under the table, sliding one casually along the Doctor’s leg.  
  
He was all predator; lean and hungry wolf grin, white teeth glinting, circling them. Every glance, every move, calculated to reduce any living, breathing being to quivering arousal.  
  
The Doctor was a rock, granite faced; he couldn’t tell if he was having any impact, but he’d made no move to pull away. Those dark eyes were watching him, though. Grinning madly and joking with Rose, those eyes didn’t change.  
  
Rose was not unaffected. Flushed cheeks, laughing a little too brightly; every time he aimed at her, the Doctor’s eyes grew darker.  
  
He ran his tongue slowly up the side of his cup, chasing an errant drop of tea, eyes half lidded and fixed on her. They were talking, but he wasn’t listening. He’d tuned out their words, tuned out the sense of them, seeking distance, putting another barrier between them and him, avoiding the words, the feelings that were drawing him in, all against his will.  
  
“...ask Jack?”  
  
Eyes still shuttered, he swivelled his gaze to the Doctor. “What can I do for you?” He leaned forward, packed every ounce of suggestiveness he could into those six words. With no apparent effect.  
  
The Doctor’s eyes were dark and still, his voice deliberately casual. “Rose was wondering if you had any suggestions for where we might go next.”  
  
Where they’d go next? What they? What exactly was he being asked? He glanced at her; she was sipping tea and looking at him curiously.  
  
“You weren’t even listening were you?” Rose, face still slightly flushed, reached across and poked his arm where it rested on the table. “You were a million miles away.”  
  
Opportunity.  
  
He nabbed her fingers before she could withdraw them, wrapping his hand around hers, sliding his thumb over the sensitive skin of her wrist, raising goose bumps. “Ah Rose, sweet Rose, why would I want to be anywhere but right here?”  
  
She laughed but looked uncomfortable and tried to tug free. He held on briefly then let go, unwilling to push it any further.  
  
Suddenly, this was all bitterness and ashes.  
  
Graceless, he slumped slightly in his chair, the false vibrancy fading out of him. Something must have shown on his face despite his careful masks: the hand sliding free of his stopped, returned. Their roles were reversed as he drew away from Rose.  
  
“Jack?” All concern and caring and he didn’t know how to handle that. “You okay?”  
  
He drained his cup quickly, choking on the bitter tannin of the dregs, and stood. “It’s late.” Dropping the cup on the table, he turned away from them. “I’m going to bed.”  
  
He made his way to the room they’d given him, closing the door carefully, turning to lean his forehead against its cool surface. He had to get off this ship.


	3. Chapter 3

Jack found them in the console room and spared a moment to wonder why, with the infinite space in the TARDIS, they always ended up there.  
  
Their attention was fixed on the main display screen, his entrance unnoticed or unacknowledged, and he was grateful for the respite.  
  
All the confusion they’d engendered in him, all the questioning, the half-formed and unwanted feelings were bundled up, bound tightly and thrown squirming into the black pit in his mind. He was back in control of himself.  
  
That control had come with a price, though. He felt stilted, awkward, his normal grace diminished, each smooth natural action hindered by the effort he was exerting.  
  
“What is it?” Rose was leaning over the Doctor, peering at the display. A green light flashed on the console and a low-pitched hum filled the air.  
  
“It’s an alert. The TARDIS’s picked up something she recognises.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well I don’t know, do I?” The Doctor punched some buttons and reached around Rose to pull a lever. “It’s what I’m tryin’ to find out. Jack?”  
  
He looked up, startled. “Yes?”  
  
“Go round there and pull that lever, and then push the yellow button.”  
  
Response to command was drilled into him from years in academy and Agency; he was halfway across the room before he realised he was in motion. Circling the console, he pulled and pushed as directed.  
  
The light ceased flashing and started to emit a blue glow.  
  
“Ah.” The Doctor was frozen, staring at the readout on the screen. “Right.” Clapping his hands he announced, “Well, looks like we’re gonna make a little detour.”  
  
“Don’t you have to actually be goin’ somewhere specific to make a detour?” Rose asked.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
  
The TARDIS materialised in the middle of a plain of knee high, straggly grass, bleached yellow and dry, filled with huge, twisted rocks. These were the planet’s only natural sculptures, creating an entirely alien and forbidding atmosphere. They dwarfed the TARDIS, looming over her, seeming to subtly warn that this was their domain, and she’d best watch her step.  
  
The TARDIS stood, uncowed and unimpressed, stolid in her own presence.  
  
The planet was at the technological equivalent of 19th century earth. The Doctor had narrowed the location of the object he was seeking to one of the plains cities; a city that should not have anything sophisticated enough to be recognised by the TARDIS. He’d overridden Rose’s protests at his insistence on investigating the anomaly alone.  
  
Rose’s response to his, “Just have to pop out for a tick, back in no time at all,” had been quick and equivocal. She’d reminded him he tended to get into trouble when he went off on his own, then snapped her mouth shut when he made a pointed comment about barrage balloons. They were looking at each other from four feet distant and Jack had watched Rose carefully, wondering if there would be an explosion or some attempt at emotional blackmail.  
  
She’d opened her mouth as if to retort, then closed it. “Fine,” she’d said, breathing deeply. “Go on.” Her exaggerated sigh had done interesting things to her outline and Jack’s eyes had snapped down reflexively before he dragged them back up to her face. “I’ll just wait here for you.”  
  
For a heartbeat she’d stood, face sulky, then with a blinding smile, tongue trapped between her teeth, she’d closed the distance between them and poked the Doctor forcefully in the chest. “But you’d better bring me a present, yeah?”  
  
And there it was, the price the Doctor had to pay for getting his own way. But he’d just snatched at her finger with a muffled ‘oof’ of surprise and a huge grin.  
  
Watching them standing together, the Doctor’s hand completely enclosing hers while they smiled at each other, he felt his walls shiver, the warmth reverberating between them echoing out and striking his awareness like a bell.  
  
The last thing the Doctor said to Rose was, “Don’t get into trouble.”  
  
He said nothing to Jack, just delivered a long, dark look, eloquent in its expression of both warning and expectation.  
  
* * * *  
  
The Doctor was overdue. Not just slightly late, but hours overdue.  
  
The lateness having passed from irritating to worrying, they were standing outside the TARDIS, waiting. Well, he was standing, leaning with deliberate casualness against the side of the ship. She was fidgeting, shifting her weight from foot to foot, and tapping her fingers against her thigh in an ever more frantic drumming.  
  
“He should be back by now.” Rose turned to him. “He should be _back_ by now. Why isn’t he back yet?”  
  
Jack shook his head, glancing at his watch then back at Rose. “I’m sure he’s fine.”  
  
“Yeah, but what if he’s not fine?” She was pacing now, back and forth in a tight little arc, kicking up tiny puffs of dust at each turn. “I knew we should have gone with him.”  
  
Jack was caught for a moment, surprised by the ‘we’, but he shook it off as unimportant.  
  
“Rose, he’s a nine centuries old Time Lord, and _this_ is a backwater planet with tech that’ll barely get them to the next continent.” She was looking at him now, listening carefully. His logic seemed to be having a calming effect, for which he was grateful. “I hardly think anyone on this planet could hurt him.”  
  
Pictures flitted through his mind, his own evidence that it would take a lot to stop the Doctor: that hard, dangerous look when he’d proven to Jack that the imminent genocide of the human race was his fault; standing resolute facing the monsters who were the forerunners of that doom. “I’m sure he’s fine,” he repeated.  
  
She sighed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.” She came to stand next to him, gaze fixed on the direction the Doctor had gone. The sun had fallen in the sky, contorting the shadows thrown by the rocks, making the shade an eerie camouflage that could just, with luck, hide a returning traveller. “I’m sure something or someone just caught his interest and he forgot the time. His watch doesn’t even tell the time, you know?” She shifted slightly, bringing her closer; he could feel the heat of her body, creating a little cushion of warmth between them.  
  
“Yeah, I know. Years and decades, not minutes and hours.”  
  
Another hour gone and the night had won its battle over day, leaving semi-darkness, the landscape illuminated by the cold light of the moon just cresting the horizon. “That’s it. I’m going to look for him.” She propelled herself forward; pushing off the TARDIS and walking away, though it was barely light enough to see. She stumbled before he reached her; grabbing her arm, checking her motion.  
  
“Rose, no.”  
  
She was glaring at him, but he didn’t care. It was too dangerous to go out into the dark and he knew, without any doubt, the Doctor would hold him responsible. “Rose, if he’s not back by morning I promise we’ll go and find him.”  
  
Her look was bleak.  
  
“I _promise_ , but Rose, seriously, we can’t just go running off unprepared.” As she turned back towards him he dropped his hand. “Look, let’s go inside, waiting out here’s not achieving anything, and it’s starting to get cold.”  
  
“No.”  
  
Absolute and definite, readily willful. Jack knew there was no point in arguing.  
  
“But you can go inside if you like, I promise not to go running off.”  
  
Jack laughed: as if he were that naïve. A brief flicker of what might have been hurt crossed Rose’s face at his laughter but it was gone to fast for Jack to be sure. He still couldn’t read her. Whatever it was, the laugh died on his lips, leaving them in awkward silence.  
  
The two of them resettled against the TARDIS. Jack wondered if he could feel the ship waiting with them, aware of her master’s absence. God, he’d gotten sentimental. The thought made him wince.  
  
A rustle of denim as Rose shifted closer, leaning into him, surprising him. He automatically moved, turning towards her and she settled herself against him.  
  
This he knew how to handle.  
  
It wasn’t the first time he’d served as a distraction from someone’s worries, and he began to slip back into the motions, wolf grin staring out from behind his shuttered eyes, slick predation bringing a firm hand to span hip, to lean forward and breathe beguilements into her ear.  
  
Reflex was stilled by suppressed thoughts, rising from the depths of his mind as he glanced down. Her eyes were dark, her face set and lips tight. There was no sign of flirtatiousness, no twinkling eyes or teasing smile. Just worry and the beginning of what Jack could identify as fear. He didn’t want to care, rejected it, tried to force it back into its box; he failed.  
  
He wasn’t stupid, far from it, but his experience was limited when it came to offering comfort and reassurance. Pleasure, yes, dancing and caresses and cries in the night, the game of seducer and seduced: these were his speciality and he’d stalked his prey across half the universe.  
  
Being looked to for solace, wanting to offer it, was a new role for him and all of a sudden he wasn’t so sure of the lines.  
  
With the warm solidity of Rose’s back pressed to his chest he stilled his natural response, turned salacious to soothing and pressed a hand to her shoulder, tightening with a gentle pressure and sliding his other arm around her waist, drawing her closer. He knew it was right when she burrowed into him, pushing back into his hold.  
  
“Rose, he really will be alright.” He’d been aiming for forceful and certain; was surprised when it came out tinged with worry. Damn. He was worried. Concerned for more than what would happen if the Doctor didn’t come back to fly them out of there.  
  
She looked up at him, twisting around to peer up at his face, partially hidden by the TARDIS’s shadow. He met her eyes, briefly, trying to conceal his concern. An effort he assumed had been less than successful when she completed her turn and hugged him, the contact entirely unexpected.  
  
Worried, fearful that the man she loved was in danger somewhere, not knowing why he was late, not knowing if he would come back at all, and she was reaching out to him? It rattled him down to his core and he felt his foundations shiver under yet another assault.  
  
Her arms tightened as she said, “Yeah, ‘m sure you’re right, hard to imagine what could stop him.” Her tone was light, comforting and he glanced down again, startled. She loosened her grip and leaned back, looking up at him.  
  
Their pose mimicked one he’d played many times, but despite its familiarity he was on shaky ground. He answered her tentative smile with one of his own, pulling her back against him. “It’ll be okay.” He wasn’t sure which of them it was meant for.  
  
They stood together, Rose leaning against him, her forehead pressed against his chest. He could feel the tension in her spine, in the feel of muscles hard under his hand. Turning practiced skills to new use, he rubbed gentle circles across her back, feeling her respond, felt some of the tension slip away.  
  
Listening to the wind rustling through the grass, the moon now high in the sky above them, he tried to distance himself from the physical reality of Rose in his arms; tried to fit this new acceptance into his patterns of thought, tried to find a way to convince himself he hadn’t accepted it. Failed miserably in his attempt to deny the pleasure he felt from holding her, not for sex, not for what could be gained, but for its own sake.  
  
He still wanted to strangle her, berate her for her blind trust, but for this moment he would accept it. Would shelter and protect her, teeth bared and snarling, against any threat, even if the threat was himself.  
  
Would accept this, in this moment, and let tomorrow look after itself.  
  
The long shadow heralding the arrival of the exhausted Doctor drew the thoughts from his mind and Rose from his arms. Jack watched as she flung herself across the intervening space, away from him, and wrapped herself around the tall form.  
  
Hackles up, unfamiliar surges of protectiveness driving him to sharp attention, he watched as the Doctor returned her embrace; heard words but not the sense of them as the Doctor buried his face in Rose’s hair. The intensity of their moment was brief, but it left Jack with the sense that he’d missed out again.  
  
Dredging up a bright, blinding smile, pushing down the uneasy and unwelcome feeling of exclusion, he sauntered towards them, mustering every ounce of casual seductiveness he could manage. “It’s about time you got back.”  
  
  
He stiffened when the Doctor reached out and slung an arm around his shoulders, but allowed himself to relax into their moment. He was surprised at himself and deep inside the wolf subsided, returned to slumber.  
  
Releasing the pair, the Doctor gripped Rose’s hand and wrapped the other around Jack’s shoulder, propelling them towards the entrance to the TARDIS. “Well, it’s all over bar the shouting,” he proclaimed, “and I think they can manage that without me.” The Doctor’s voice was tinged with self-satisfaction, not quite covering the exhaustion, but it was enough to draw a relieved grin from Rose.  
  
Watching them out of the corner of his eye as they covered the short distance, feeling the memory of Rose in his arms and the weight of the Doctor’s hand, Jack was able to put a name to the instinct that was telling him he had to get off this ship — self-preservation. Had to put these two behind him and get back to seducing and conning his way across the universe.  
  
A little voice in the back of his mind was whispering to him that if he didn’t go soon, it might be too late. That it might already be too late.


	4. Chapter 4

“So, when are we gonna go somewhere fun?” Perched on the yellow bench, Rose swung her feet absently, evading the Doctor’s reaching hands.  
  
Jack watched from his vantage point: partially hidden from view, leaning in the doorway. The Doctor, sprawled in front of Rose, was grabbing at the feet flicking past him.  
  
He’d been watching in fascination as they’d maneuvered around the room.  
  
They’d wandered, obviously unaware, seemingly at random until they were in direct proximity. Like watching a planet orbit the sun, subtle movements bringing them closer as if tethered together.  
  
“What’s not been fun? You haven’t had fun?” The Doctor’s voice was mournful but his grin never shifted.  
  
“Oh yeah.” Rose looked down at him, sliding forward, resting sock-clad feet on his crossed legs. “The last week’s been just _brilliant_. Saw the inside of a space station that didn’t sell anything but stuff for space ships and got hit on by three sleazy aliens.”  
  
Counting her woes on her fingers, Rose didn’t see the sharp glance the Doctor threw Jack. He just shrugged. Narrowed eyes told him this was not the last he’d be hearing of it.  
  
“Saw a bunch of great big rocks while you sauntered off to do god knows what, _and came back late_ , making us worry.”  
  
Apparently satisfied she’d made her case she aimed a pointed toe at the Doctor’s chest, nudging him gently. “Yeah,” she repeated, “what could be more fun than that?”  
  
Leaning back, one hand wrapped around her foot, drawing it with him, he was either deep in thought or doing an excellent imitation.  
  
Jack was struck with a sense of foreboding at the wicked grin that suddenly flashed across the Doctor’s face.  
  
“Somewhere fun, huh? Somewhere _different_ , is that what you mean?” At Rose’s enthusiastic nod, he continued, “What about somewhere they have really great drinks? And shopping?”  
  
“That sounds like heaven.” Rose tucked her feet underneath her, leaned forward. “Can we go soon? Can we go now?”  
  
Leaping to his feet, bounding to the controls, he grinned. “Your wish is my command.”  
  
He tried to make sense of what the Doctor did to prod the engine into motion, to note what sequence of buttons and levers told the TARDIS where to take them but it could have been random whimsy, his eyes unable to discern a pattern.  
  
* * * *  
  
The TARDIS opened onto an alley; at least Jack presumed it was an alley. Polished white stone, clean, with no garbage in sight: he’d seen temples that weren’t as nice. Wondering just where they were, he stepped out into the immaculate thoroughfare.  
  
Turned, watching as Rose and the Doctor stepped out; squelched the brief, irritating flare of relief, the tiny thought that the TARDIS would dematerialise once he’d left it.  
  
“Wow, it’s, um, very clean.” Rose looked around her dubiously. “Very white.”  
  
She was right; the buildings on either side of the alley were formed from huge blocks of white stone, gleaming as clean as the pavers. He wondered what sort of fun could be found here, in a place so pristine.  
  
The Doctor gripped his arm, halting forward motion and shaking his head. “Here, Rose goes first.”  
  
Rose looked up, startled, at this pronouncement. “What?”  
  
She echoed his thoughts.  
  
“Rose has to go first. And you and I, Jack, have to walk a respectful distance behind.”  
  
He did not like the sound of this.  
  
Chaotic sound and colour greeted them as they left the alley. Bright sunlight dazzling on highly polished stone, a swirl of noise and smells. Blinding colours strolling past, followed by dark shadows, two, three, four: the brighter the colours, the more shadows trailed behind.  
  
The cacophony rioting past his senses gradually resolved itself into a market place, filled with people. And everywhere he looked he saw female aliens, different species but uniformly swathed in garish clothes, followed by males in blacks or browns, the occasional one in grey or beige.  
  
Males who appeared to be regarded like pets: waving female hands demanded attention, delivered casual caresses when they responded. He saw a package dropped, saw a blow delivered, imagined he could hear the crack of flesh on flesh even across the market’s din.  
  
Every move, every interaction between male and female spoke of the status difference: female stallholders, males standing to the side, obviously servants. No male walked alone in the market’s crowd: part of a train or simply in pairs, they watched their mistresses, eyes focussed on them like well-trained dogs.  
  
He’d heard of societies like this but had never visited one.  
  
Rose was slower to understand, turning to the Doctor, asking, “What?” in obvious confusion. He could see the idea creep up on her, watched understanding dawn. “The women are in charge?” She grinned, and it was tinged with more than a touch of glee. “About time!”  
  
He hoped it was the idea, not the reality playing out in front of them, she was responding to; excited by a society just like her own with the power differential reversed, not this apparent absolute oppression of one sex by the other.  
  
They paced into the heart of the market, the Doctor falling easily into the subdued walk expected here, eyes downcast but casting conspiratorial glances, clearly enjoying the charade.  
  
He had to rein in his natural swagger, fight to keep his eyes down. The men here were subservient, hurrying along behind, scurrying, arms laden with shopping. He wouldn’t pretend to that level.  
  
Each time he slipped - tossed his head back, strode out too vigorously - he was noticed. Offended glares directed his way, disapproving glances shot at Rose. She didn’t notice, to wrapped up in the wonder of the market or her sense of power.  
  
Give someone power and they’d exercise it; power over another and they’d exploit it. He was just waiting for her to fall fully into her role.  
  
Rose slowed, stopping in front of a stall displaying multi-coloured swaths of cloth. They took up station to either side of her, his clenched fists shoved deep in his pockets.  
  
The stallholder, huge, towering three feet over Rose, hurried forward eagerly. “Greetings, lady. What may I show you?” Quick hands danced nimbly over turns of fabric, flipping edges to show the stitching on the underside.  
  
“These are pretty. Are they dresses?” Rose’s voice was innocent, inquiring.  
  
A puzzled glance, quickly hidden and the woman indicated her own flowing garments. “Robes, gentle lady. Proper clothing for a lady with two husbands, to reflect your status.” A gentle chiding, hinting Rose was perhaps not presenting herself in a fitting way.  
  
Rose froze, then grinned; giggled, but stifled it. “Two… Oh yeah, my two husbands.” She looked at neither of them, but he could feel the hilarity radiating off her. _Uh huh_ , he thought, that was all that had been missing: polygamous marriage as a sign of status.  
  
“And, if the lady will forgive me?” Rose cocked her head curiously, waiting. “Perhaps you might wish to clothe your boys more appropriately? I have several suitable articles I could show you…” A gentle smile softened what was clearly a rebuke.  
  
Rose stiffened, glancing right, then left. The Doctor in his standard fair: jeans, jacket, jumper, boots; dark and plain. Jack in tight, tight jeans, black and soft like velvet, a brilliant yellow t-shirt outlining every muscle that rippled under his skin.  
  
“What’s wrong with the way they’re dressed?” Her voice was defensive, protective. “I like them this way.”  
  
The stallholder rushed to soothe. “Nothing, nothing, gentle lady. I meant no offence. Each has their own requirements for their boys. I simply wished to offer an alternative, should the lady care to clothe them more…traditionally.”  
  
She stood silently, then thanked the stallholder perfunctorily and re-entered the flow of people. They followed and he watched her, walking slowly, thoughtfully through the crowds. After several minutes she dropped back to walk between them and, oblivious to the shocked stares, linked her arms through theirs and asked, “So, _husbands_ , where to now?”  
  
Carefully, respectfully, the Doctor drew away, an almost imperceptible shake of his head accomplishing what the disapproval of the market goers had not. Jack copied the movement, stepping back; missed what the Doctor said but they were moving again, heading for the edge of the market. As the crowds thinned out he breathed a bit easier.  
  
Rose led them to a deserted grassy area, flopping down on the furthest bench; he joined her, not surprised when the Doctor elected to sit at her feet, carefully not touching her.  
  
“So, my two husbands, was it a church wedding?” Laughter erupted and the Doctor echoed her amusement.  
  
Jack didn’t laugh. Didn’t think it was funny.  
  
Didn’t like being surprised, being vulnerable, not when his worldview was being torn down around him; the foundations on which he’d rebuilt his life eroding, worn away by constant exposure to these two.  
  
He fought the inexorable pull: towards him, offering respect, confidence, command; towards her, remembered holding her, trusting; towards _them_ , all exuberant joy. Convincing himself with varying degrees of success that he wasn’t succumbing, wasn’t tilting, shifting on his axis to travel in shaky orbit around them.  
  
He shuddered, a clashing, crashing impact between ingrained self-interest and this new impulse.  
  
The creeping subservience of the men in the market was waking a deep burning anger, rousing the slumbering wolf, the bad wolf: not the seducer, the hunter. He could feel it pacing behind his eyes, impatient and hungry.  
  
  
Drawn from the tangle of his thoughts by Rose, asking if he was all right, he felt no pull, he just felt anger: anger at her for enjoying this, at him for dragging them to this world.  
  
“Oh yeah, I’m fine. Great.” Bitter irony laced his voice, drawing their gazes to him. “I get to leave. I’m not stuck here, playing lapdog for the rest of my life.”  
  
“Jack, it’s not that bad…”  
  
He was nearly savage now, flinging an arm out in angry emphasis.  
  
“Isn’t it, Rose? Isn’t it? Look, really look, will you?”  
  
He reined himself in, gritting out through clenched teeth, “They’re like _slaves_. Look at them, scurrying along, no freedom, no say in what happens to them. This isn’t some amusing little reversal of the balance of power; it’s slavery.”  
  
It was rising in him, breaking the surface of his control, the black space in his mind where once there’d been two years of memories, two years of life; two years ripped away from him, leaving a void in their wake.  
  
“Their lives can be snatched away, Rose. Gone,” he snapped his fingers in front of her face, “just like that.” Breath harsh, he closed his eyes. “Just. Like. That.”  
  
A soft hand, gentle, warm, slid over his clenched fist. He wanted to snatch it away, viciously reject what was offered. He didn’t. Felt a larger hand, strong and firm, wrap around his calf. Wanted to kick out, striking at these constant threats; insidious, creeping, the constant nibbling wearing him down where a full-frontal assault would fail.  
  
Deep breaths, fighting for control, wrestling his anger back behind his eyes. Aware he was projecting, he scrambled after calm, focussing, God help him, on the feel of two hands, both holding tight.  
  
Opened his eyes; avoided their intent gazes. There was silence for one heart beat. Two.  
  
“Right.” The Doctor hopped up. “I think it’s time for those drinks.”  
  
Drinks. Drinks sounded an excellent idea. He nodded, summoned a smirk, pale shadow of his normal grin. “One drink and I’m yours.”  
  
“Which one?” The Doctor returned the grin, dark eyes reflecting something entirely different.  
  
“Either.” He grinned at Rose as he stood and it was stronger, more real. “Both.”  
  
Release of tension and they laughed. Laughed harder as Rose said, “Well, apparently we are married…”  
  
He was almost relieved they weren’t serious. They were tying him to them despite his best efforts; he was afraid sex would make it worse, would strengthen those tentative bonds beyond his ability to resist.  
  
  
* * * *  
  
Bright and noisy, the bar was glowing in the gathering twilight. Short days on this planet, only a few hours between midday and nightfall, meant happy hour started early.  
  
Several drinks later Jack was feeling surprisingly mellow. Enough alcohol could make anything better. The drinks were large, colourful, distressingly sweet and very potent. Even with his high tolerance he was experiencing a pleasant blurring of the edges. Observing his companions he was struck by a wave of proprietary affection he didn’t even try to deny.  
  
They were very good drinks.  
  
Every time he wove through the crowd to the bar he fielded flirtatious glances and caresses. He was in his element, in control, his earlier distress absorbed into the chance to play the game.  
  
Glancing down, he saw the brilliant pink concoction was gone, glass lonely and empty, half-melted ice-star rattling in the bottom. His turn. He motioned to get their attention. “Another round?”  
  
Rose was looking pleasantly hazy, gaze slightly unfocussed, but she nodded happily. The Doctor was as affected by the drinks as by Jack’s flirtations: apparently immune; but he shoved some coins across the table.  
  
Sliding through the crowd, twisting lithely to avoid some, but not all, of the attention directed his way, he was pulled up short as a claw like grip latched onto his shoulder. It stopped him, spinning him, sudden adrenaline burning off the alcoholic glow.  
  
Huge, bristling: blue skin and tufts of hair covering a massive frame, his captor leered at him. “Little man, little _pretty_ man. I’ve been watching you.”  
  
Wrenching back, he felt anger growing.  
  
“You trot there, you trot here, you fetch drinks for those two,” one huge hand indicated the Doctor and Rose, oblivious to his predicament. “I watch them. I watch you. You’re no husband. You’re a _gelsfen_ , and a gelsfen has no protection.”  
  
He didn’t know what a gelsfen was, but it didn’t sound good.  
  
“Little gelsfen, you will entertain me. I like pretty gelsfens.” Her hand slid down his chest, across his hips, down his thigh, trailed back up to grasp his chin, forcing his head up.  
  
He was seething, all his earlier fury rushing back.  
  
Two ways out of a situation like this: play along, or break her hand. He could take the first option; summon swaggering seduction. He wanted the second, but here, on this world, he could imagine what would happen. Disinterested now, those nearby would act should he lash out.  
  
As she dragged him forward he wanted to throw back his head and howl, wanted to tear through these people; bright wolf’s grin glinting in his eyes not caring for repercussions, craving the immediacy of violence.  
  
He hovered on the edge of control.  
  
Then Rose was there, tapping the woman’s shoulder and sliding between them when she turned. She grabbed the arm holding him, striking up sharply, dislodging it, throwing it away from them.  
  
She pushed him with her body, forcing him back, one step at a time, away from the blue woman. He could feel her quivering with the fury, twin to his own, he saw in her face when she glanced back.  
  
He could see the Doctor, maintaining the required respectful distance, but anger burned brightly in the backs of his eyes.  
  
His accoster was peering down at Rose with puzzlement. “Little woman, what are you doing?”  
  
“What am I doin’?” She was all bright fury, golden and strong. “What am I doin’? What are you doin’?” She grabbed Jack’s wrist, drawing it forward around her body. “He’s mine. You get it? Understand?”  
  
The blue woman frowned. “I watch him, I watch you. He’s not yours. That other one is yours, but not this one.” She loomed forward, towering over Rose, voice rising in anger. “And if he’s not yours, then he’s gelsfen and gelsfen are _anyone’s_.”  
  
Back rigid with anger Rose stood, dwarfed but refusing to retreat. Threw her head back in defiance, practically snarling. “I don’t know what gelsfen is, but get this through your thick skull, Bluey. You don’t look at ‘im. You don’t touch ‘im. You don’t even _think_ about touchin’ ‘im.”  
  
Punctuating her words with jabs at Bluey’s chest.  
  
“He’s mine, and…” she looked around; found the Doctor, hovering, unable to act. Reached out and dragged him closer. “…he’s mine. You go find your gelsfen somewhere else, ya’ hear?”  
  
He knew it could go badly. Glanced sideways, saw the Doctor gathering himself. Watched Bluey and waited for the explosion.  
  
It never came.  
  
Bluey’s identical twins came up beside her and grabbed her. One of them addressed Rose with a sigh, ignoring the two men. “Sorry about that. Vorta gets a bit funny after she’s had too much to drink. No harm done?”  
  
He could feel Rose shaking, could feel her ready to explode; he leaned into her, trying to tell her it was okay, to let it go now the danger was passed. He must have gotten through; felt her draw a deep shuddering breath, then another, before she nodded curtly.  
  
The one who’d addressed Rose latched on to Bluey’s — _Vorta’s_ — arm and dragged her, protesting, away. The confrontation had been ignored; only the clear space around them indicating it had been noticed.  
  
Rose stood, breathing deeply, still clutching them, unwilling or unable to let go. Closed her eyes briefly and released them. “Let’s get out of here.”  
  
They followed silently behind her as she led them out of the bar, pausing in confusion until the Doctor pointed the way.  
  
As they walked he glanced sideways at her. Reached out and pushed her, just lightly. At her incredulous look he said, “Yours? As if.”  
  
She just stared, blinked, then dissolved into hysterical laughter, taking him with her. Dragged the Doctor in, despite his baffled expression. The laughter stole the last of the anger, adrenaline draining away, leaving him shaky in its wake.  
  
Wiping her eyes, Rose leaned on the Doctor, who smiled gently at her. “My head hurts, my mouth feels like something crawled into it and died and I wanna go home.” She sighed. “Why’d you bring us here anyway, Doctor?”  
  
Sadly, gazing around the pristine city, he answered quietly, “It used to be different.”  
  
Neither of them said anything in response; they made their way back to the TARDIS in silence.


	5. Chapter 5

Sleep eluded him.  
  
He’d lain awake in the hours since their return trying to lure it in, to sneak up on it, but it evaded him at every turn. Recognising futility he gave up, pulled on jeans, shrugged into a t-shirt, and followed the sounds of tapping to the TARDIS’s control room.  
  
“Don’t you ever sleep?”  
  
The Doctor was tinkering, rapping delicately at an open panel with a mallet. He looked up at Jack’s question, pondered before answering, “Not so much, no.”  
  
“Time Lords don’t need sleep?”  
  
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far; but I’m not like you little humans, your systems shutting down and sending you all crazy if you don’t get your 8 hours a day.”  
  
Jack nodded, not rising to the bait. He’d heard innumerable different versions of the ‘Time Lords are better than humans’ spiel, had observed the pointlessness of entering into the endless round of banter it inevitably sparked.  
  
He wandered around the console, peering over the Doctor’s shoulder into the open panel.  
  
“No nasty side effects from all those pink drinks?”  
  
Glancing down, he saw the guileless grin with no reflection in the fathomless eyes.  
  
He laughed. “Nah. I once drank a whole case of Rivalian brandy, only woke up with a headache...of course, it was three days later.”  
  
Another grin, wider this time. “Well, if you’re up you may as well make yourself useful.” He waved the mallet, pointing towards the gleaming array of levers above his head. “Just flip those, one after the other, ‘til I tell you to stop.”  
  
He complied, leaning forward to the accompaniment of bangs, crashes and a muffled oath in a language he didn’t recognise.  
  
“Ahhh, that’s got it. Just flip that fifth one again?”  
  
Emerging from under the panel the Doctor exuded smug self-satisfaction. “Right, that’s that little problem taken care of. Fancy a cuppa?”  
  
Alarms went off in his head. He suspected the offer was a precursor to questions he couldn’t answer.  
  
“Mmmm, no. Think I’ll just sit out here for awhile, admire the view.” He swept a hand towards the console’s flashing green lights. “It’s kind of soothing.”  
  
Met those dark eyes and looked away.  
  
“Right’o.” The Doctor clattered down the hall, leaving him alone with the glowing controls. Wandering, he ran his fingers across the levers, flipped the toggles, aimlessly distracting himself. Glancing at the doodles stuck on the screen he shook his head.  
  
He was tired: tired of not sleeping, tired of uncertainty and just plain _tired_. Throwing himself down onto the bench he propped his feet on the console and tipped his head back, eyes closed.  
  
Drifted.  
  
Started as warmth brushed his cheek, opened his eyes to find his vision filled with white which resolved into a mug grasped in a large hand.  
  
“Here, brought you one anyway. Milk and sugar, right?”  
  
He accepted the cup of tea thrust at him, wrapping his fingers around its warmth; almost spilled it when the Doctor shoved his feet off the console and took their place, leaning back, gazing thoughtfully at him.  
  
“So,” the Doctor sipped his tea, tone casual. Jack’s tension rose; waiting, waiting for what might be coming. “Three sleazy aliens?”  
  
Relief.  
  
He heaved a sigh, struggling to conceal it. “Delvos wasn’t quite the refined destination it once was. More a hang-out for grunt end trader crews. Couple of them thought Rose looked tasty.” He waved a hand carelessly. “It was simple. No problem.”  
  
“Looked tasty?” There was menace behind those words.  
  
Maybe not so simple.  
  
“Yes, Doctor. They were sleazy, nasty scum who took a fancy to Rose and weren’t particularly concerned with whether she returned their affections.”  
  
“And you rushed to the rescue, did you?”  
  
The question struck him, struck right down deep at the core of his doubts, vibrating down the fault line transecting his foundations. Dragged the memory of his hesitation from behind the walls, dangled it in front of him, taunting.  
  
He wanted to be indignant, defensive. To protest that of course he’d leapt to the rescue. And he had, it just hadn’t been as simple as that.  
  
He’d hesitated too long.  
  
“Just going to leave her there, were you?” The tone was even, deceptively so.  
  
He decided to take the offensive. “Hey, you’re the one who sent her off with me.”  
  
“Well, wasn’t like there was another option, was there?” Another sip of tea, another dark look directed his way. “I wasn’t taking you in there, either.”  
  
He snorted. “You could have sent her back to the TARDIS. And I can look after myself.”  
  
A single brow rose, eloquent with doubt.  
  
“You have no idea what I’m capable of, Doctor.” His voice was dark and he could feel the wolf circling, disturbed. Remembering things he’d done and the hole in his memories, a black hole with a beast at the bottom.  
  
Good days, he raged at what had been stolen from him; bad days, he was terrified he’d surrendered them. Wondered what could have been so obscene he couldn’t bear to remember it.  
  
“She wouldn’t have stayed here anyway.”  
  
“What?” He dragged himself back to the conversation.  
  
“Rose. She wouldn’t have stayed. If I’d told her to wait in the TARDIS it would’ve been about five minutes before she was getting into trouble.” A pointed look was followed by: “That was what sending her off with you was supposed to avoid.”  
  
“Sometimes trouble finds you, Doctor. You can’t avoid it.”  
  
“Good point, that; particularly where Rose is concerned.”  
  
He nodded agreement. Silence fell, broken only by the hums and wheezes of the TARDIS.  
  
“She would have, you know.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Stayed. She stayed here on that planet with the rocks, what was it, Tervin?” Tervin, that was it. Where the Doctor had gone off, leaving him alone with Rose. Rose who had obliterated his defences; who had leaned against him, warm and trusting.  
  
The Doctor looked closely at him. “Yeah, but she wasn’t alone, was she?”  
  
And that brought them to the point he’d been running from.  
  
Calmly, poised in the eye of the storm, he breathed deep, set down his cup and asked the question. “Why am I here?”  
  
“What, is this some great philosophical debate? ‘Why am I here?’, ‘What’s it all about?’”  
  
“No, why am I _here_ , here on the TARDIS.”  
  
“I really don’t do this domestic stuff, Jack. You’re here because you’re here. If you want to go, you can go, walk out anytime. If you want to stay, you can stay. Simple, really.”  
  
“It’s not simple, Doctor, not simple at all. I’m not like Rose. You don’t know me, don’t know anything about me.”  
  
Driving to his feet he paced across the floor.  
  
“Hell, there’s things I don’t know about me. There’s a great big hole in my memories, remember?”  
  
The things he'd done, the ones he remembered, were bad enough.  
  
“You know what she said to me, Doctor? She said she trusted me. _Trusted me_. How stupid is that?” His thoughts were in turmoil, bubbling up through the fissures, the cracks in his foundations.  
  
“Is it?”  
  
“Of course it is. She may be acting like I’m the latest stray puppy you’ve dragged aboard, Doctor, but you and I know better. So what the hell is going on?”  
  
“Nothing’s going on, Jack. You’re here because we came after you. You’re still here because you haven’t left.”  
  
“Hey, I made a mistake with that damn ambulance but I think I more than paid for it. I never asked to get dragged around the universe, playing happy families with the two of you. I was a _Time Agent_ , Doctor, one of the best. No one ever gets free of the Agency. But I did. _I_ escaped.”  
  
He paused, gathering up his thoughts, trying to make sense of what was whirling through his mind; walked back towards the Doctor, trying to make him understand.  
  
“They stole part of my mind, sentenced me to death, but I got free of them.”  
  
The Doctor set his cup carefully on the console, looking up at him impassively.  
  
"You _think_ you're free.”  
  
“Excuse me?”  
  
“You think you escaped, but you didn’t. Not really.”  
  
The Doctor was calm, delivering his matter of fact pronouncements like a prophet looking down from on high.  
  
“You'll never be free until you let it go. They made you into what they needed; stole your memories, tried to destroy anything good in you.”  
  
He was stunned, breath shallow. This was beyond him.  
  
“Didn’t work, though.”  
  
His walls were being ripped from him: bricks and mortar, weakened by minor assaults, were tumbling with great echoing thuds leaving him with nothing, nothing between him and the Doctor’s words.  
  
“You were too strong for that. That part of you? It just got buried under everything.”  
  
And his pulse was speeding up and the pounding of his heart was loud in his ears.  
  
“And I know, 'cause I've seen it. Rose has seen it.” A twisted, solemn version of the Doctor’s usual manic grin made a fleeting appearance, the console painting weird highlights across his skin, giving him the look of some demonic entity come to foretell Jack’s doom. “ _You’ve_ seen it.”  
  
"As long as you’re living the life they made for you, they’ve won. Don't let them _win_ , Jack. You're better than that."  
  
Tearing his gaze from the Doctor’s calm eyes, he wrapped his arms around himself but they couldn't protect him: nothing could and he tried to walk away.  
  
He didn't get far.  
  
The Doctor grasped his shoulder gently, pulling him around. "Jack, listen to me. I know what I'm talking about. You _are_ better than that."  
  
At those last words, he crumbled; a barely perceptible gasp escaped and he shuddered.  
  
_No, no, no_ a familiar voice was screaming at him. But another voice, a new voice, was whispering _yes_ , and it sounded like Rose and it sounded like the Doctor and it sounded like a young man, long ago lost, who'd been full of idealism and joy.  
  
He clamped his eyes shut, not before a single tear escaped but quickly enough to prevent its brethren from following.  
  
The Doctor swore, abandoned his apparent disinterest and hauled him forward, wrapping his arms around him, saying nothing; just holding him, refusing to let go.  
  
It felt like a promise.  
  
He buried his face in the warm chest, gasping but not giving in to the pressure behind his eyes, hands gripping the rough jumper like it was salvation as past memories, rapacious and angry, sunk their teeth into him, tearing and biting.  
  
_His first day at the Agency academy, so excited to be chosen from the countless applicants...  
  
His first mission, all eagerness and anticipation...  
  
His first kill, a throat sliced from behind without even a hint of warning, a death that as far as he could tell accomplished nothing...  
  
The slow dissolution of his optimism, the transformation of idealism to cynicism...  
  
The first time he seduced someone to protect himself: his Commander, with orders to send him to the war on Tarlen, more than willing to change the orders to keep his new love by his side...  
  
The first time he sold someone out to advance his interests: the Commander, watching as he was dragged away to face court-martial for changing orders without authorisation...  
  
Waking up in the neural lab, dark and screaming pain ripping through him, a void in his memory, clothes soaked with blood not his own; the need for erasure so desperate there’d been no delay...  
  
All his training, his lethality, his sexuality, all subsumed into the wolf in his mind. A calculating predator, pacing and eager; other people now no more than targets, tools, to be bent, used and discarded...  
  
Faces, bodies, parading past — reminding him what he was: an amoral conman, a killer when required, all he’d ever be._  
  
But new images appeared, pitting themselves against memory’s ferocity:  
  
_The swirl of confusion, facing them: one dark, one bright, but both the same. Watching them face down the monsters he’d created.  
  
The moment he chose sacrifice to save them.  
  
The moment he chose her over his own greed: hesitating, but acting.  
  
Seeking comfort, offering it return: warm body pressed against him, innocent in her trust.  
  
Hands touching him, seeking nothing, offering everything: reaching out to him, for him, silently promising to catch him when he fell.  
  
The moment she’d claimed him as her own: claimed them together as belonging to her.  
  
Their eyes, filled with anger for him.  
  
Watching them, brilliant and laughing, opening their joy to him: reaching out, drawing him in.  
  
The first time the wolf stirred in protection. _  
  
Howling in rage the memories retreated, slunk away, unable to stand in the face of the swirling images; unable to stand against _you're better than that._  
  
Calmness was flooding his mind, spreading through him, radiating out from the strong hands splayed across his back. Awareness returned, physical reality intruding, bringing him back to this moment.  
  
A smell of leather and something undefinable, sharp and fresh.  
  
The strength in the lean body, unstintingly supporting him.  
  
Took a moment to appreciate the feel of that body, long length pressed against him, unconsciously drawing closer.  
  
Released his grip, knuckles creaking, stiff from the strength of his hold.  
  
Pulled back, carefully reconstructing the pieces of his composure, unsure of how much time had passed.  
  
Felt strong arms let him go and as he stepped away, he felt hollow. Not _empty_ , but rather waiting for something new to fill him.  
  
Looked up, uncertain, to see compassion and understanding.  
  
Hesitated.  
  
The Doctor clapped his hands, the sharp sound breaking the tension. “So, any more questions?”  
  
The cheerful voice, the wide grin, were so normal, so welcome, they drew a smile.  
  
“Any conundrums of the universe I can shed enlightenment on?”  
  
He ran a hand through his hair, feeling its heavy length sliding through his fingers; looked up, glancing through his lashes at the Doctor. Felt his grin, shaky but present, reasserting itself; felt the self-confidence returning, rushing in, filling him as uncertainty fell away.  
  
He laughed; couldn’t help it, didn’t even try.  
  
“What does a Time Lord keep in his pockets?”  
  
He ducked the Doctor's cheerful grab, grinning with a sense of freedom. He could still feel the wolf inside, but it was bright-eyed and eager, seducer still — that always would be, always had been, part of him — but filled with a fierce protectiveness; seeking to preserve their joy, wanting to be part of it.  
  
A yawn surprised him, erupting out of his throat and he stretched, feeling the pull of every muscle.  
  
“Go to bed, Jack.”  
  
“Alone?”  
  
“You wouldn’t know what to do with me if you had me. Go on, off with you.”  
  
He turned, heading for the hallway.  
  
“Jack!”  
  
Turned back, fumbling to catch the object flying across the room. Held it up to spin, reflecting green and gold in the TARDIS’s lights.  
  
“If you’re staying, you’re gonna need a key.”  
  
He looked down. Looked up, wicked grin spreading across his face. “Does this mean I get to drive?”  
  
“Not a chance.” 


End file.
